


the few things i'd say

by glasshalfempty



Series: and my bones [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Pliroy, Somewhat canon compliance, almost dubcon, but not quite because nobody ever touches any actual dicks hA, drunk yuri is my favorite yuri, jj is a secret sweetheart, jurio, you fool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9089326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasshalfempty/pseuds/glasshalfempty
Summary: “Oh, God, what did I—?” Yuri’s fists curl in his hair as he desperately tries to remember. “I don’t—I can’t remember anything. I was at the banquet, and then—““You were trashed,” JJ supplies, and Yuri shuts up, staring at him. “Absolutely fucking wasted. I don’t even know how someone so small could drink that much in so little time and not pass out. You were at the bar, and I—um—came over to say hi, and stuff, and you didn’t know who I was, and I asked you how you were getting back to your hotel, and you said Victor was taking you, but Victor was fucking wasted too, so I offered to take you back instead. Oh, we’re in your hotel room, by the way. I managed to get us upstairs and tried to put you to bed, but then, you—well.”“What?” Yuri prompts, almost afraid to know the answer.“You, um. You tried to suck my dick.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> apparently i'm incapable of writing a one-shot under 6k lmao whatever i think this is my favorite thing I've ever written simply because i had so much fun writing it  
> shoot me a comment when you're done, and do enjoy!

The Rostelecom Cup kicks Yuri’s ass.

It’s not fair, he thinks as he takes his place on the podium, silver medal gleaming on his chest. It’s not fucking fair that he’s given his all, his one hundred and ten percent, and JJ has _still_ beaten him for the gold. Again.

JJ, who stands next to Yuri on the podium, laughs as he bites his medal and and winks for the cameras. Yuri grits his teeth and does his best to ignore him, focusing his attention on the reporters who swarm the ice in droves, snapping pictures and shouting questions at the skaters. Yuri couldn’t pick out a single voice if he tried, so he gazes off the ice, looking for the Katsudon instead. He doesn’t find him before it’s time to step off the podium, but he spots him as soon as he’s off the ice, huddled in on himself behind Yakov, simmering in bad vibes. It might be his eyes playing tricks on him, but to Yuri, it almost looks as if he’s crying.

Yuri sniffs in distaste. He has no time for emotions other than his own right now. So what if the Katsudon is disappointed in his score? So is Yuri, and _he_ can suck it up and hide his emotions and wait to cry until he’s alone in his hotel room like a goddamn adult.

Yuri ignores Yakov and instead trudges to the locker room, fatigue setting into his limbs as the adrenaline finally drains from his muscles. His feet feel as if they’re filled with lead, and he sits down on the bench hard, unlacing his skates with numb fingers. As soon as they’re off his feet, he chucks them across the room as hard as he can, teeth gritted with frustration as they clang loudly against the lockers.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How could he have messed up so badly? This was supposed to be _his_ season, and now, twice—twice!—he’d come in second to—to—

“Aww, is _le chaton_ upset?” someone simpers from the doorway, and Yuri’s shoulders tense as he instantly recognizes the voice.

“Fuck off, Leroy,” he snaps, rounding on the Canadian skater, who doesn’t look at all intimidated. Oh, Yuri does _not_ have time to deal with him right now. He’s exhausted, his body chemistry is messed up already from all the adrenaline, and he doesn’t need any more confusing hormones added to the mix because of this asshole. JJ smirks at him, and Yuri hates it, hates how his body reacts, despises the way gut twists at the curl of JJ’s lips and the hazy sparkle in his eyes.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset, Plisetsky. You came in second. That’s pretty damn impressive,” he says airily. Yuri turns around and ignores him, grabbing his national jacket out of his locker and shrugging it on over his costume. When Yuri doesn’t respond, JJ continues, “Especially, you know, up against _me_."

  “Where do you get off?” Yuri glowers, slinging his bag over his shoulder and slamming his locker shut. He crosses the room to retrieve his skates from their resting place on the floor, and when he turns around, JJ is _right_ behind him. Yuri subconsciously gulps; if he takes a single step closer, Yuri will legitimately be trapped against the lockers.

Yuri bares his teeth in a snarl, and JJ stares quietly at him for a moment, sizing him up. Yuri’s heart pounds, and he’s halfway through planning exactly how he’ll kick JJ’s knee and make a break for it while he’s down when JJ asks, “Are you going to the banquet tonight?”

Of all the things Yuri is expecting him to say, none of them are that, and the question catches him so off-guard that he answers honestly. “Yes.”

JJ smiles. “Good. I’ll see you there, then.”

And then he’s gone, leaving behind the faint scent of sweat and some musky cologne, and Yuri is left alone in the locker room with his heart in his throat, cursing himself.

He wants to hunker down and not move until the building is empty, just to make sure that JJ is completely gone, but it’s less than five minutes later when Yakov sticks his head in the door and shouts, “поторопись, ты говно!” Yuri grumbles but complies, gathering his skates and exiting the locker room. He scans the area for any black undercuts, but thankfully, JJ is nowhere in sight.

“Yuri. We’re heading to the hotel to change for the banquet,” Yakov informs him. Yuri spots Mila and Georgi milling behind him; Mila looks content, her hair falling out of her tight bun into messy, disheveled strands around her face. Georgi looks put off by something, but then, that’s his usual expression. It takes Yuri a second to realize that Yuuri isn’t there.

“Where’s the Katsudon?” he asks. Yakov glowers.

“He’s gone to meet Vitya at the airport,” he says, his tone laced with disapproval. Yuri frowns. “Don’t worry about him now, he said they’d both be at the banquet later.”

“Like I care,” Yuri mutters, hoisting his bag more firmly over his shoulder. “Whatever. Let’s go back to the hotel. I need a goddamn shower.”

Yakov nods once and turns, leading his small fleet of skaters out of the rink and into the bustling streets of Moscow, and none of them look back.

* * *

 

Yuri’s not sure how much vodka he’s had in the past half hour, but clearly it isn’t enough.

Victor and Yuuri have reappeared. Yuri’s not sure when, but somewhere along the night, they had walked through the door, the prodigal sons returning to the homeland, welcomed with open arms. Yuri watches from across the room, unamused, as his older friend wobbles on his feet and buries his face in his trainee’s shoulder as Yuuri tries to wrestle the umpteenth flute of champagne from his hand.

Yuri scowls and takes another shot.

The second he’d arrived at the banquet, he’d made a beeline for the bar, parked his ass in the farthest corner stool, and ordered himself a bottle of strongest vodka they had. Now, his vision is starting to blur at the edges, but he’s still lucid, so when Seung Gil comes up to wish him congratulations on his silver, he has the right mind to politely thank him. They exchange small talk for a few minutes as Seung Gil silently judges his alcohol intake and Yuri glares at him to _back the hell off, it’s fine, dammit_. It’s true that he’s not even legal yet—if he gets caught drinking by someone who cares, it’s be a real shit show—but he maintains eye contact with Seung gil through two more shots as if to say, “ask me if I give a fuck”. He’s nothing if not Russian, and he’ll prove to the world that he can hold his spirits like one or he’ll go down trying.

Seung Gil walks away pretty quickly after that, not wanting to be around when Yuri really starts to sway in his seat. Yuri curses him under his breath and picks up his chaser, taking a small sip. Fuck him for judging. Yuri’s had a shitty day, and he deserves to let loose a little, legality be damned.

His vision has gone completely blurry by the time Jean Jacques Leroy saunters over. Yuri can only tell who he is by the fuzzy circle of gold gleaming on his chest, which mocks him ruthlessly. _Of course he wouldn’t take off his medal, even for a formal banquet, the shithead_ , Yuri thinks, and JJ laughs. Yuri realizes he might have said that out loud.

“A bit tipsy, are we?” JJ asks teasingly. Yuri glowers at him and downs another shot.

“Fuck off,” he grumbles.

“My God, you’re drunk,” JJ laughs, taking a sip of his own beer.

“I’m not fucking drunk,” Yuri retorts, but his voice slurs, and JJ smiles amusedly.

“Right, of course you’re not. Are you even legal?” JJ asks accusingly, and Yuri sighs, throwing up his hands.

“Fuckin’ sue me, alright? What right do you have to judge me, Ублюдок?” Yuri mumbles, and JJ sighs.

“Alright, _chaton_ , who’s taking you home?” JJ asks, scanning the crowd for Yuri’s grandpa or maybe that insufferable coach of his, someone who’ll be able to handle the drooping mess of a figure skater in front of him.

“Vitya,” Yuri supplies as he slumps dangerously to the right. JJ catches his shoulder and pushes him back up, leaning him against the counter for a little extra stability. He shoots a glance across the room and easily finds Victor, who is clinging to his champagne flute like his life depends on it while he wraps himself so tightly around Yuuri Katsuki that the Japanese skater looks a little afraid for his life.

“Well, that’s out of the question,” JJ sighs, but Yuri doesn’t comment. JJ turns around just in time to see him take yet another shot.

“How many of those have you had?” JJ asks incredulously, and Yuri shrugs.

“Dunno. Two, maybe three…какая разница?” He lifts the glass of dark red liquid to his lips and takes a sip. JJ snatches it, to Yuri’s protest, and upon a giving the drink a quick sniff, deduces that it’s cranberry juice.

“Jesus, a chaser and everything, huh? You really know what you’re doing,” JJ observes, setting the glass down, and Yuri blinks and stares at him like he’s only just realized JJ is there.

“Whoa,” he sighs, and JJ’s eyebrows furrow in amusement. “Who are _you_? You’re…вы действительно жарко.”

“Yuri, I don’t speak Russian. If you want me to understand, you’re going to have to use English,” JJ reminded him, and Yuri sighed.

“Прости, Прости…sorry,” he breathes, swaying in his seat, and JJ sighs, raising his beer to his lips. “You’re just…Блядь, you’re so _hot_.”

JJ chokes on his drink.

“Come again?” He asks, eyes glued to Yuri’s face, but Yuri’s eyes are unfocused, staring somewhere past JJ’s shoulder. He mumbles something in Russian, and JJ sighs as he realizes just how completely gone Yuri is.

Well, what was he to do now? He couldn’t just leave him like this, falling all over himself and— _and still trying to take shots,_ Jesus Christ. JJ swears under his breath as he swipes the bottle and the glass from Yuri’s greedy hands and places them further down the counter, out of his reach. Yuri huffs, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout and attempting to give JJ an angry glare. He fails miserably. JJ bites his lip as he stares at Yuri and debates. There’s probably nobody else here who will be willing to take him back to the hotel, and if nobody makes sure he gets home alright, he’ll most likely pass out in the street, and who knows what could happen to him there? He’s small, underage, and it’s fucking cold outside. JJ isn’t heartless.

He makes up his mind pretty quickly. “Okay, Yuri, I think it’s time to go,” JJ coaxes, setting down his beer. He firmly wraps his hand around Yuri’s forearm and tugs, trying to get him to move. Yuri makes an absolutely ~~adorable~~  pathetic mewling noise and wriggles away, pulling his arm back.

“No, no, I don’t know you, Я не знаю, кто ты,” Yuri protests, struggling, and JJ huffs.

“Yuri, it’s me. JJ. You know me. We’re—we’re friends,” JJ tries to persuade him, hooking his hands under Yuri’s armpits and tugging him to his feet. Yuri stares at him, mouth twisting as he considers this.

“JJ isn’t my _friend_ , глупый,” he slurs, and JJ pauses. “He hates me. We’re rivals. I’m pretty sure he wants me dead.”

“Yuri, I can promise you, JJ does not want you dead,” JJ says, realizing that the only way he’s going to get Yuri anywhere is if he plays along. Yuri’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Well, how would you know? You don’t know him,” Yuri insists, hands slapping feebly at JJ.

“Yes, I do. Can I tell you a secret? He told me that he doesn’t hate you. He said even likes you,” JJ rambles as he tugs the blonde through the banquet hall. Yuri’s feet stall.

“Wh, wait, he _likes_ me? You mean like—“ Yuri makes a lewd gesture with his hand, and JJ’s eyes go wide.

“No, no, not—Christ, Yuri, you need to lie down,” he hisses, and Yuri giggles. “I meant likes you as a _friend_. Doesn’t hate you. Got it?”

“Oh.” Yuri finally shuts up for a minute, and JJ seizes the opportunity to grab his arm and drag him over to Victor and Yuuri. From the looks of it, Victor is almost as drunk as his younger, blonder counterpart, clinging to Yuuri’s arm and mumbling nonsense into his shoulder. Yuuri analyzes JJ as they approach, and his eyes narrow intimidatingly as he stares at him.

“What is it?” Yuuri asks.

“I’m taking this mess home,” JJ says, gesturing to Yuri, who giggles and then burps.

Yuri’s stare is level as he eyes JJ with a cool, serious expression. “Can I trust you with him?”

JJ calmly meets his gaze. “Absolutely.”

Yuuri nods, accepting. “Make sure he gets to bed alright, and don’t let him do anything stupid enough that he’ll regret it in the morning,” he admonishes, before turning back to his own drunk disaster of a friend. Although he doesn’t see it, JJ nods firmly at his back and turns, pulling Yuri along with him.

They don’t make it to the door. Yuri’s legs give out from under him as they reach the entrance to the banquet room, and he slumps to the floor, giggling to himself and mumbling more Russian gibberish. JJ frowns—he should’ve looked at the percentage on the bottle when he had the chance, because Yuri is  _completely_ out of it—and his shoulders heave in a sigh as he realizes that there’s no way around what he’s got to do. Making sure no one is watching, he hastily scoops Yuri up bridal-style and carries him out of the building as quickly as possible.

Outside, he hails a cab, having to set Yuri down on the curb so he doesn’t drop him. Yuri stares at JJ’s leg, apparently mesmerized, and reaches out to touch his calf. JJ looks to the sky and prays for patience as he disentangles Yuri’s fingers from his pants.

“Yuri, we’ve got to go. The cab’s here,” he tells him, and Yuri doesn’t respond, just gazes at his fingers for a moment before looking at JJ. He blinks, mouth forming an “O”, and says, “Wow. You have a _good_ face.”

“Thank you,” JJ replies, picking Yuri up again—he’s really not that heavy, it’s not that big of a deal—and shoves him into the backseat of the cab. He tells the cabbie the hotel’s address, which he knows because, thankfully, all the skaters are staying in the same place here in Moscow. JJ is vaguely aware that Yuri’s got a grandfather here in the city, but he’d overheard Victor tell Yuuri that his apartment was too far from the rink for him to stay there with him. Even if he had been staying with family, JJ wouldn’t have taken Yuri to them; he was quite sure no relative would enjoy seeing their underage grandchild blackout drunk and falling over. Besides, JJ can handle him. Yuri really isn’t that much of a mess.

Yuri burps and claps a hand over his mouth, Adam’s apple bobbing, and JJ’s hands shoot out to grab at his shoulders and hold him steady as he tilts.

“Are you going to get sick?” He asks worriedly, because oh, God, he really doesn’t want to deal with that right now. Yuri holds up a finger, telling him to wait for a moment, before removing his hand and smiling broadly at him.

“Nope!” he sings, fluttering his hands proudly. “No sicky for me.”

“Ugh.” JJ sags into the seat, relieved, and Yuri shuffles over as best he can and curls up next to JJ’s side. His hands fiddle with the buttons on JJ’s suit jacket, buttoning them and unbuttoning them over and over again, and JJ lets him, figuring it’ll keep him occupied until they get back to the hotel. It's only when Yuri decides to leave all the buttons undone and go for his shirt that JJ stops him.

“Whoa, there,” he says, snatching Yuri’s small hands in his own, and Yuri pouts. “None of that, now.”

“Why not?” Yuri asks, almost begs, and fuck, JJ grits his teeth.

“We are in the back of a cab, Yuri, and I’m _JJ_. You don’t want to do that with me,” he tells him.

“JJ?” Yuri asks, eyes unfocused. “I like JJ. He’s an ass, but he has a _nice_ ass, oh my God. Sometimes I just wanna touch it so _bad_ , y’know…”

JJ’s sure that if he didn’t have the responsibility of making sure Yuri got home, he’d be out of the cab, lying dead in the street. He knows Yuri isn’t in his right mind, that he’s in his most vulnerable state right now, but _fuck him_ if he’s not going to hold that admission against him later.

“Do you, now?” JJ chokes out, and Yuri nods eagerly.

“Oh, yeah, he’s so hot sometimes. But don’t tell him I said that. He doesn’t like me,” Yuri whispers conspiratorially, and JJ smiles.

“Yes, he does. I told you that earlier.”

“Not like _that_ , though,” Yuri sighs quietly, and JJ’s glad the cab is dark, because his face feels beet-red. “And I can’t like him, either. It’s not allowed. We’re supposed to be enemies and shit, because he skates but, like, I wanna, like, I wanna skate better…” Yuri’s ability to form coherent sentences is slipping, but JJ nods, showing Yuri he understands. Yuri smiles, satisfied that he managed to get his message across, and lays his head back on JJ’s shoulder. His hand—perhaps subconsciously, perhaps not—slides down JJ’s thigh, and against his better judgement, JJ doesn’t remove it.

Yuri has sobered up slightly by the time they arrive at the hotel, but JJ still spends a good ten minutes trying to convince him to get his key card out of his pocket so JJ can see what room he’s staying in. One wrestling match later and they’re in the elevator, JJ inspecting the key card. The numbers “743” stare up at him, so JJ presses the button for “7”, and the doors slide shut softly.

The elevator is silent except for the sound of Yuri’s deep, steady breathing. He leans contentedly against JJ, face buried in his shoulder, and JJ tenses as Yuri’s hand travels down his arm and slides into his left pants pocket. He can feel Yuri’s lips and teeth on his arm as he smiles against his bicep, and his fingers twitch against JJ’s thigh, inching ever closer to his—

“Hey,” JJ says, gritting his teeth and shrugging him off. “That’s enough.”

But Yuri’s hand doesn’t move.

“ _Yuri_ ,” he tries again, because Yuri’s young, and he’s drunk, and Yuuri’s face flashes across his mind’s eye, making him promise not to let Yuri do anything stupid that he would regret in the morning.

JJ’s pretty sure that he would regret this.

“What?” Yuri whispers, sliding his other hand across JJ’s back. JJ takes a step to the side and the hands drop. Yuri stumbles, almost crashing into the wall, but JJ grabs his arm and steadies him. Yuri gazes up at him with heavy eyes and bares his teeth in one of the most obviously suggestive smiles JJ thinks he's ever seen in his life. JJ gulps, and Yuri’s eyes follow the movement, absorbing it all, as though he’s trying to drink up every drop of JJ he can manage.

JJ thinks that, maybe if the circumstances were different, he’d be watching Yuri like that too.

The elevator dings, and JJ breaks out of his trance, jumping back. He keeps his hold on Yuri’s arm as he moves out into the hallway, which is thankfully empty. The small sign on the wall points him left, so he turns and leads the way.

Yuri giggles and almost trips over his own feet when JJ pushes him through the door into his room. JJ hastily follows, sliding the “do not disturb” sign onto the handle and closing the door behind them. The last thing Yuri needs is a maid walking in on him puking into a trashcan at eight in the morning. Yuri has somehow managed to make it to the bed by himself and lays horizontally across it, feet hanging off the edge as his eyelids flutter.

JJ heaves a sigh as he sits him up and reaches for the buttons on his suit jacket.

“Yuri,” he asks as he undoes the final button and pulls the jacket off. “Where are your pajamas?”

“Huh?” Yuri asks. JJ repeats the question, and Yuri shrugs. “Don’t have any.”

JJ nods, loosening his tie and going for his dress shirt. He makes it through two buttons before Yuri seems to realize what’s happening, and his thin hands grab JJ’s in a vice grip, halting his progress.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, squinting at JJ’s face like he’s blind. Which, at this point, he probably pretty much is.

“I’m trying to get your out of your suit so you can go to bed,” JJ tells him. Yuri doesn’t pay attention, looking back and forth between himself and JJ while his mouth gapes like a fish.

Finally, his mind seems to settle on something, and he leans forward to mutter into JJ’s ear. “Are we gonna have _sex_?” He asks, whispering the last word like it’s a heavily revered secret. JJ would almost laugh if this wasn’t so frustrating.

“No, we’re not going to have sex,” he replies, fighting to keep a straight face. Yuri’s expression falls, and he pouts as he lets JJ undo the rest of his buttons.

“Why not?” Yuri whines as JJ squats down and removes his shoes. JJ tenses as Yuri’s fingers thread through his hair and tug, sending cool blue shivers dripping down his spine.

“Yuri, stop that,” JJ scolds, but Yuri’s hands don’t move.

“I don’t want to.”

Yuri is seriously pushing his luck. JJ takes a deep breath and picks up Yuri’s shoes, untangling Yuri’s fingers from his hair and standing up. The room feels unbelievably hot, borderline stifling, and if Yuri keeps up with this teasing bullshit, JJ’s not sure he’s going to be able to resist for much longer.

He crosses to the door, sets the shoes down, and pauses. He can do this. He _can_ do this. He has to convince himself that he’s stronger than this, because he will _not_ give in to Yuri Plisetsky tonight, no matter how much of a sexual deviant the boy becomes.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and turns around, and Yuri is _right there_.

JJ jumps a mile and yelps like he’s on fire. How had he even moved that fast—and that _quietly_ , Jesus—when JJ hadn’t even heard him get up? Yuri doesn’t react to his reaction, just stares at him with a pondering expression. His fingers reach for JJ’s belt.

“What are you—“ JJ asks, but Yuri quickly reaches up and clamps his hand over JJ’s mouth, silencing him. His other hand fumbles with the buttons on JJ’s pants, and if JJ wasn’t in such an intense state of shock, he would have shoved his hands away eons ago. His body is frozen, and all he can do is stand and watch through wide eyes as Yuri gives him one last burning look before dropping to his knees.

JJ’s body unfreezes. He jerks forward, and his hands plant themselves in Yuri’s hair, grabbing fistfuls of blond silk as Yuri places his delicate hands on JJ’s hips in a sturdy grip to anchor him in place. JJ groans deep in his throat as Yuri tugs his pants down to mid thigh. He's--he's half hard already, God, he's _pathetic_ , and Yuri's not helping anything as he touches the tip of his nose to the bulge in his boxers and inhales.  
  
“Yuri, fuck, you _can’t_ —“

Yuri hums, either not hearing him or just choosing not to listen, and he uses the tip of his tongue to lightly trace the outline of JJ through his underwear. He presses a kiss to JJ’s clothed erection, and JJ hisses, heart pounding as his mind flits frantically between “stop him” and “let him do it.” Yuri moans softly, lips and tongue only separated from JJ’s dick by a thin layer of cloth, and his fingers clench at JJ’s waistband as he begins to tug his boxers down.

“JJ,” Yuri sighs against him, and JJ clenches his teeth, tightens his grip, and thinks, okay, that's _enough_.

It takes all the inner strength JJ has to grab Yuri tightly by the hair and yank him away.

 Yuri cries out in pain and confusion, hands shooting up to pull JJ away from his hair before he rips it out of his head. JJ releases him and falls back against the door, panting like he’s just sprinted a marathon. In some ways, he has. Yuri stares at him, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt, and JJ almost feels bad, but, considering the alternative ending to this scenario, he doesn’t regret his decision in the slightest.

“Wha—“ Yuri blinks at him like a deer in the headlights, looking like he’s on the verge of tears. “What did I do wrong?”

JJ inhales deeply through his nose and tries to collect his thoughts. “Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why did you stop me?”

JJ briefly closes his eyes, praying for fortitude, and says,” You don’t want to do this, Yuri.”

Yuri scoffs. “Sure I do.”

“No. You don’t.” JJ pulls his pants back up and hastily buckles the belt. “If I’d’ve let you keep going, you’d’ve woken up tomorrow tasting me in your mouth and not remembering anything, and you’d be—well. You’d be disgusted, for one thing.”

Yuri scowls. “No I wouldn’t.”

“Oh, trust me. You would. You’d also never speak to me again,” JJ tells him. “And I just couldn’t have that.”

Yuri agrees with him on that, at least. He still looks like he’s about to cry, though, so JJ sighs and resigns himself to the fact that he’s probably going to regret the words that come out of his mouth next in the long run.

“Listen. When you’re sober, and you can consent, you can suck my dick as much as you’d like,” JJ declares, and Yuri raises an eyebrow and brightens some at that. “As for right now, you’re going to take your dress pants off, and you’re going to lay down in bed and go to sleep.”

A heartbeat, and then—“Okay,” Yuri sighs, shoulders slumping as he gives in and retreats to the bed.

JJ releases the biggest sigh he thinks he's ever held, slumping against the door as his body relaxes. He’s strangely proud of himself as he watches Yuri struggle with his pants buttons. Near the end, he hadn’t been so sure he'd be able to hold his own.

“I’m going to use the bathroom, okay? And then I’ll be right back,” JJ says, and as soon as Yuri nods in affirmation, he ducks into the small en-suite bathroom and shuts the door.

He leans over the sink for a good five minutes while the water runs and stares at his reflection in the mirror, mentally congratulating himself. A lesser man would have cracked under such temptations as he’d been faced with tonight. He sighs and turns off the sink, returning to the bedroom to face the music.

It’s not nearly as bad as he expects. Yuri has curled into a ball under the covers, only his eyes and his mane of golden hair visible above the bedsheets. He watches JJ as he walks to the counter to grab one of the plastic cups provided by the hotel and returns to the bathroom to fill it with water. He places it on the nightstand next to Yuri before grabbing the wastepaper basket from under the desk and placing it next to the bed.

“There. If you feel like you’re gonna throw up, try and make it to the toilet, but if you can’t, use this,” he instructs, and Yuri nods mutely. JJ glances around one final time before patting his pockets and saying, “Well, I think that’s everything. I guess I'm going to go to my own room now, okay?”

“No,” Yuri says immediately, and his tone is so miserable that JJ pauses. “Don't go. Could you--please. Stay here, with me?”

The question surprises him. “Could I?” JJ asks, mostly to himself. Does he trust himself enough to stay? As if to help, Yuri nods frantically.

“Please,” he asks, one final time, and, well, that does it.

JJ strips out of his suit— the things are nightmares to sleep in, honestly—and walks around the the bed to lay down on the opposite side of Yuri. As soon as he’s situated, Yuri rolls over to face him, lightly taking one of his hands in both of his own and twisting their fingers together.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” He asks quietly, and JJ raises an eyebrow.

“Depends. What did I say?”

“That you’ll let me suck your dick any time I want when I’m sober,” Yuri says without missing a beat, and, yep, he’s still drunk, because there’s no way in hell a sentence like that would ever come out of his mouth if he wasn’t. JJ chuckles and pulls Yuri closer, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. Yuri closes his eyes and tucks his head under JJ’s chin, breathing deep and even.

“If you ever so please, _mon chaton_ ,” JJ sighs, holding him close and ignoring the ache in his chest and the voice in his head that tells him this is temporary, _don’t get attached, he’s not going to remember any of this in the morning so don’t get invested, you stupid, stupid boy._

 _It’s too late for that_ , JJ tells the voice as he softly closes his eyes.

* * *

Yuri wakes up first. He doesn’t open his eyes as he slowly becomes aware of how pleasantly warm he is, draped in a huge, thick blanket, and sighs contentedly at the heat. He briefly notices that there’s something hard pressing against his ass, but it doesn’t register in his brain as a particularly important bit of information at the moment. He shifts slightly, transferring his weight from his shoulder to his hip, and the blanket tightens its grip around his waist and grumbles lightly into the back of his neck.

Yuri freezes.

His eyes fly open, blinking against the sunlight—he must’ve forgotten to close the curtains last night—and he takes in the tanned arm wrapped around his bare torso. He turns his head to the side and sees the messy mop of dark hair curling around his shoulder, and, oh. Oh, no.

Jean Jacques Leroy sighs as he wraps his arms tighter around Yuri, pressing his erection against his ass as he shifts in his sleep.

Yuri yelps like a wounded dog and shoots off the bed like it’s on fire, elbow flying back and drilling JJ in the gut. JJ’s eyes fly open and he gasps, curling in on himself, trying to breathe even though the wind’s just been knocked out of him. Yuri falls onto the floor, panting like he’s just run a marathon.

“что ебать? What are you _doing_ here?” Yuri shouts, and JJ winces, massaging the spot where Yuri hit him as he tries to understand what just happened.

“Good morning to you, too,” he mutters, sitting up, and, oh, God, he’s in his fucking underwear. Yuri feels like he’s going to throw up.

“What—what did I—why are you—“

“I fucking called it. You don't remember anything, do you?” JJ asks, and Yuri’s face crumples.

“Oh, God,” he whimpers, feeling his lip tremble. “What happened? We didn’t—“ He can’t finish the sentence, but JJ understands and frantically shakes his head.

“No, no, no. Nothing like that happened, I swear,” JJ insists, and Yuri feels as if a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. It crashes back down just as quickly, though, when JJ says, “I stopped you before you could do anything you really would have regretted.”

“Oh, God, what did I—?” Yuri’s fists curl in his hair as he desperately tries to remember. “I don’t—I can’t remember anything. I was at the banquet, and then—“

“You were trashed,” JJ supplies, and Yuri shuts up, staring at him. “Absolutely fucking wasted. I don’t even know how someone so small could drink that much in so little time and not pass out. You were at the bar, and I—um—came over to say hi, and stuff, and you didn’t know who I was, and I asked you how you were getting back to your hotel, and you said Victor was taking you, but Victor was fucking wasted too, so I offered to take you back instead. Oh, we’re in your hotel room, by the way. I managed to get us upstairs and tried to put you to bed, but then, you—well.”

“What?” Yuri prompts, almost afraid to know the answer.

“You, um. You tried to suck my dick.”

Silence falls over them as Yuri takes it in.

“I tried—I tried to—“

“I stopped you, though,” JJ says. “I swear, I didn’t let you do anything. I got your suit off and got you into bed, but then you practically begged me to stay, so I gave in and laid down next to you. You passed out just like that, and I guess I must have too. That’s all, really.”

“You stopped me?” Yuri stares at him with confused eyes, and JJ nods firmly.

“I did.”

“Why?”

The question leaves Yuri’s lips before he can question it’s logic, and they both blink into the silence it leaves in its wake. Yuri silently curses himself for asking—of course, JJ wouldn’t want him all over him while he was drunk and uncoordinated, and besides, they're _rivals_ , fighting tooth and nail for a spot on the pedestal. There was no reason he would ever—

JJ asks, “What do you mean, why?”

“Well, did you not want it, or something? Or was it me?” Yuri asks, not sure of where this is coming from, but needing to know nonetheless. What had it been that had made JJ stop?

It doesn’t take JJ long to come up with an answer. “You were drunk,” he says simply. “You were drunk, and upset about losing, and you barely even knew who I was. If you’re going to suck my dick, I want you to be able to _consent_. Do you not remember what I—”

JJ cuts him off quickly, and Yuri regards him with a guarded expression for a moment before glancing down and muttering, “Really.”

“Jesus Christ, Plisetsky. Yes, really.”

“Well. Thank you.”

JJ sighs, scooting to the edge of the bed and setting his feet on the floor. “No problem.”

“No, seriously. Thank you. If I’d—I can’t—I don’t want to think about what could have happened if you hadn’t—“

“Hey.” JJ cuts him off, and Yuri raises his eyes and is met with a breathtaking smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

Yuri huffs as JJ steps past him. JJ picks up his shirt and considers it for a moment before turning to Yuri and saying, “Would it be okay if I used your shower?”

“I mean, if you want to,” Yuri replies, gesturing to the bathroom. “Help yourself. There’s towels and stuff, and my shampoo’s in there. Feel free to use it.”

“Thanks.” JJ sets his shirt down on the dresser and saunters into the bathroom. The door clicks shut, and Yuri lets out the biggest sigh of his life, flopping backwards onto the carpet and covering his face with his hands as the hears the water begin to run.

God, he's so _stupid_. This was absolutely humiliating. JJ probably thought he was the biggest idiot on the face of the earth. How could he have let something like that happen? No, not even just let it happen— _initiate_ it. How could he have possibly thought that it was a good idea, drunk or sober, to drop to his knees for Jean Jacques Leroy? When he was in his right mind, he didn’t even like the Canadian skater, much less feel attracted to him.

 _Yeah, you keep telling yourself tha_ t, a small voice nags in the back of his head, which Yuri chooses to ignore.

He rolls over onto his stomach and groans as he feels the beginning of a headache. He’s not surprised. If he’d had as much to drink as JJ said, a hangover is probably inevitable. He sighs and climbs to his feet, grabbing his duffel bag and rummaging through to find his bottle of ibuprofen. He swallows two pills dry and flops back down on the bed, listening to the muffled sound of water hitting tile through the wall.

A wild thought occurs. They’re still alone. They’re still alone in Yuri’s perfectly private hotel room, and Yuri is sober now, and JJ is…JJ is naked in Yuri’s hotel bathroom, separated from him by only one ugly gray wall.

Yuri’s eyes fly open at the revelation, and his hands clamp down on the blanket so hard he almost strains a muscle. _No, no, you are not thinking about that_ , Yuri scolds himself, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks even though he’s all alone in the room with his thoughts. I _t doesn’t matter, you don’t even like him, he’s only showering, Jesus fuck, you don’t care…_

The water shuts off suddenly, and Yuri tenses, heart pounding in his throat as he listens hard for the sounds of JJ moving around in the bathroom. For five minutes there’s almost no noise, save for Yuri’s faint breathing, but then the door opens a crack, and JJ asks, “Yuri?”

Yuri’s hands grip the sheets even tighter as he sits up and replies, in a much higher pitch than he would have liked, “What?”

“I, um—I left my clothes—do you think you could—?”

Yuri swallows. _Fuck_.

“No problem,” he squeaks, and releases his death grip on the bed to grab JJ’s pants and jacket off the floor. He snatches his dress shirt off the dresser and brings everything to the bathroom door, where JJ is waiting. His hand shoots out through the crack to grab them, and Yuri catches a glimpse of water droplets rolling down his shoulder and chest towards the white towel around his waist.

“Thanks,” JJ says, and then he fucking _winks_ , and Yuri feels his mouth go dry as they stare each other down. Yuri becomes aware of the fact that he is, still, also shirtless.

“No problem,” he replies, licking his lips, and JJ’s eyes follow the motion. Their eyes meet, the tension in the room a thick cloud of fog around them, and Yuri is poised at the edge of a cliff, every muscle drawn taut, waiting for the slightest signal to jump.

JJ breaks the moment first. He retreats back into the bathroom, hastily closing the door in Yuri’s face with a smile and a fleeting “be right out!” Yuri scowls as he gets his head on straight again and stomps back to the bed, fuming. What is he _doing_? He’s got to get his shit together, and fast. He cannot let his guard down like that again. They’re playing a dangerous game here, and Yuri isn’t about to lose.

JJ reappears just as Yuri’s tugging the hem of his shirt down, and his eyes dart to the moment. Yuri feels his cheeks heat up, and when he squirms, JJ seems to come back to his senses. “Thanks for the shower,” he says, and Yuri nods too quickly.

“Yep, no problem. Least I could do,” he replies as JJ walks to the door and begins tugging on his shoes.

“Are you going to be okay on your own?” JJ asks once his shoes are laced.

“I’ll be fine. Not like I’ve never stayed in a hotel room by myself, and besides, Yakov should be around at some point soon,” Yuri answers, and JJ nod.

“Okay, well. I guess this is goodbye, then.” JJ shrugs.

"Hey." JJ's eyes snap to his, narrowed with anticipation, daring him to do it, but Yuri's already on another track. "Don't think this changes things. I still think you're an asshole," he supplies with a light chuckle, but JJ doesn't react. He stares at Yuri, and Yuri stares right back, blood turned to electricity in his veins. The moment is still there. He could still do it. He could say it right now, _c’mon, you don’t have to go, kick off your shoes and stay awhile_ —

The moment evaporates. “Well. Have a good trip home,” JJ says, and Yuri blinks.

“Yeah. Yeah, you, too.”

The door slams shut, and JJ is gone, taking the entire night with him.

Yuri stands there, staring at the door for what feels like an eternity. There’s regret, of course, but mostly relief, because with JJ in the room, he often finds he can’t think straight.

It’s been less than thirty seconds when Yuri’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. He groans, muttering about how he’ll never catch a break, and checks the notification, expecting Yakov. He’s surprised to find that it’s from an unknown number with an area code he doesn’t recognize, but the message itself gives the sender away.

_Had fun last night. See you in Barcelona ;)_

He’ll never tell anyone, but Yuri smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> im a slut for italics lmao
> 
> here are the translations of the Russian:  
> поторопись, ты говно : hurry up, you shit  
> Ублюдок : bastard  
> какая разница : who cares  
> вы действительно жарко : you're really hot  
> Прости, Прости : sorry, sorry  
> глупый : stupid  
> что ебать : what the fuck  
> also, chaton is french for kitten! I don't speak any Russian, so I apologize for any errors.
> 
> if this was ~too tame~ for some of you frisky boys, there is a part two which involves Actual Dick Touching. the link to it should be below since both of these fics are part of a series. thank you and please enjoy!


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